


Well Shit Let's Do This

by notsocoolio



Series: Babystuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Childcare, POV Dave Strider, Single dad Dave Strider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 11:24:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17866358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsocoolio/pseuds/notsocoolio
Summary: A pair of twins are unceremoniously dropped on Dave's doorstep...and he falls in love almost instantly





	Well Shit Let's Do This

“You know, your man-whorish ways are going to catch up to you,” Rose says, sipping her drink.

 

You’re currently at lunch with your sister, Rose. She invited you to this McDonald's for some unfathomable reason right after your classes on Wednesday. You were really tired, of both her shit, and life. You kind of just want to go home, but Rose’s company always makes you feel better, even if you also feel like you just ran a mental marathon at the same time.

 

You roll your eyes, “How so? Also, it’s rude to call a man of my caliber a ‘man-whore’” 

 

She uncrosses and then re-crosses her legs, “Well, it’s true isn’t it? How many people have you gone to bed with again.”

 

She bats her eyelashes. She had pointedly avoided the word ‘women’ just to spite you. Or she was onto you.

 

“You mean my conquests? Oh Rose, I didn’t know you cared so much,” you hold a hand to your heart, and breathe deep, tearful sigh, “After all this time? I shouldn’t just allow you back into my life like this, before you never cared… not a bit.”

 

You turn away from her, sniffling a bit. 

 

She sighs, long and suffering, “Oh, honey,” she drawls, picking up the role you created for her, “I care about all your passions. I am just too much of cold-hearted bastard that can’t show my emotions! I swear I will do better this time, with just another chance—“

 

“Now hold on there! I see what ploy you’re up to! You’re trying to psycho-babble me even in my own role play!”

 

She gives you the look.

 

“Don’t give me the look, Rose! You know I’m right!” you go to stand up, mostly pretending to be enraged, but she puts a hand on yours.

 

She sighs again, “I only kid, brother.”

 

She looks at you, and you settle back into your seat. 

 

“I worry about you, you know,” you nod, and take a sip of your own drink, “This is unhealthy, Dave, and you know it. I don’t know if it’s some touch-starved ‘I can’t get close to anyone’ mechanism or not, but I’m also not a therapist yet, no matter how much I pretend to be.

 

“I think you should see one. A therapist, I mean. Constantly sleeping with any stranger that shows you attention, and then pushing away the people you do know that try to stay with you? It isn’t healthy, and it needs to stop.”

 

You’re quiet for a moment, “Is this an intervention?”

 

“Yes,” she says, “I know you stopped talking to John awhile ago. I know you haven’t really spoken to Jade in years. I’m the only person you talk to regularly that isn’t a professor, your landlord, or a minor acquaintance.”

 

You look away. You know she’s right.

 

“Dave, I can’t take it anymore! Watching you wither away like this. You’re gonna get sick, or get with the wrong person, get someone pregnant, or go to the wrong party and get hurt. The only thing you do with your life anymore is study, party, and have sex. You can’t keep doing this to yourself!”

 

She places her other hand to match the first, and clutches both your hands tightly.

 

“You need to talk to someone. Someone other than me. I already have an appointment set up for you on Monday if you want to go.”

 

She lets go of both your hands and stands up, grabbing her purse.

 

“I won’t force you,” she says, before she walks away.

 

You sit there for a moment. Then you clean up the table after the both of you, and go home.

 

* * *

 

It’s a little less than two weeks later. You went to the appointment on Monday, and skipped Meenah’s party yesterday in favor of staying home and calling up Rose.

 

Today, Saturday, you’re in the kitchen of your apartment, ready to make some coffee when you hear a knock on your door.

 

It’s short, two raps, and bit a rushed, and then someone’s footsteps leaving the premises. 

 

It’s also three in the morning, and you should not be receiving anything or anyone.

 

Needless to say, you’re a bit scared to open the door.

 

But you do anyway, against your (nonexistent, as Rose would say) better judgement.

 

You open it slowly, peaking a glance around to see no one there. A prank, then. Or mail. You look down.

 

Sitting on your doorstep are two babies, wrapped in plush blankets and sitting in a little twin carrier. Next to them is a bag with baby supplies and a note sticking out of it.

 

“Oh fuck,” you mumble.

 

“Oh holy fucking shit,” you say, as you wrench the letter out of the bag.

 

One of the babies is awake, batting its arms and reaching for you. The other is asleep.

 

The letter is basically useless. The babies are about a month old. A girl you obviously impregnated and ruined the life of wrote it, saying how they couldn’t have kids and go to law school. The kids are both definitely yours, it says, and she wishes you “good fucking luck, and riddance.”

 

She isn’t coming back.

 

“Oh my god.”

 

You look at the two twins. They look almost exactly like you.

 

One is a girl, she’s cute and chubby and reaching for you. You give her your finger, which she wraps tiny fingers around. Oh god, you’re starting to cry. Her hair is pale blonde, like yours, but a bit curly, and her eyes are an odd shade of pink.

 

You look at the other baby, a boy who’s asleep in his side of the stroller. He’s very, very blonde, even more so than you or the girl. It’s almost spiky, the way it stands up in a cowlick in the back. He’s very peaceful, and stoic, sitting there.

 

You’re full on crying, now. You are sitting on your doorstep, looking at two babies identical to yourself, full on crying. Maybe you should take this inside.

 

And you do. You pick up the baby bag, push their stroller inside your apartment, and close the door behind you.

 

They’re in your apartment now. 

 

They’re yours. You have kids.

 

Jesus, you have kids.

 

You look at them, over the handle of the stroller, and they’re so cute and peaceful, you don’t know what to do.

 

“Oh, god,” you say.

 

You don’t want to tell Rose about  _ this _ . She’ll tell you to find the mom or something, or hand them over to CPS, because you are not ready for this.

 

You stagger over to your couch.

 

Oh, god. You want them, don’t you? You, the shit-eating, narcissistic, self-centered prick that you are, want to keep these kids? You’ll kill them!

 

Oh, fuck. You’re totally gonna kill them, aren’t you? You’re gonna be like your bro, feeding them junk and strifing them all day until they’re bleeding, all for your own amusement, just like Bro did.

 

And then you look back at them. The pink one catches your eye. She doesn’t look at you for long, just goes back to whatever the hell she was doing, and you realize that you want them so bad that it hurts, that somehow, within the five minutes you’ve known about them you’ve already fallen in love.

 

Jesus, you really do have a problem.

 

And now, you really need to do something about it.

 

You start by researching on webMD.

 

* * *

 

It’s about a day later. You’ve spent a ton of money on baby crap that’ll show up in two days, researched how to take care of a baby on so many different websites your eyes still hurt, fed the little suckers and managed to change a diaper once or twice in the day you’ve had them.

 

You haven’t killed them yet, which is a good sign, but you also haven’t told Rose.

 

You really don’t want to tell Rose, but you are going to need help.

 

You don’t know who to talk to, so you call a doctor first.

 

“Hello, this is the pediatrician’s office.”

 

“Uh, hi,” you say awkwardly.

 

“How may we help you, sir?”

 

“I don’t really know how to explain this other than to say that I kinda just ended up with twins on my doorstep that are apparently mine, and—“

 

The person on the other side sighs, “You want a DNA test? We don’t do that here, so goodbye.”

 

You can hear them going to hang up the phone, “No, wait! I can definitely tell they’re mine, alright, I just don’t really know what to do with them! I know I need baby visits and stuff, so I was calling up about that, but also I need, like, a parenting class. Is that a thing?”

 

The other person sighs again, and you can almost hear them pinching their nose. “Yes. Parenting classes are a thing, and we can schedule you some baby-visits for any time that you’re available.”

 

You go on to have a long conversation on setting up each of these appointments, and then finally, ten minutes later, hang up your phone only to pick it up again immediately to call the administrations office about your situation. 

 

You can apparently bring a baby to class, but they’re also giving you the semester off if you need it. You decide that you do, even if that’s, like, a couple thousand dollars down the drain that you’ll probably end up regretting.

 

Whatever, it’s Bro’s money anyway, and by the end of the semester it’ll be summer break, so when you show up again next year for classes, the kids will be old enough for daycare, right?

 

Oh goddammit, you’re totally getting ahead of yourself. What if the mom comes back and you totally just took off a semester only for that bitch to come and take them back?

 

Fuck. Now you’re jealous  _ and _ worried.

 

You snap out of it, though, when you hear a cry from the other room.

 

“Dirk?” you mumble. You named them both yesterday.

 

The paper said you could.

 

You left them in your bedroom, still sleeping in their stroller, since you had no idea what to do with them. 

 

For once, it’s actually Roxy that’s crying, though, and not Dirk. The boy had cried nonstop since he woke up the other day, and Roxy had only cried when she had pissed in her diaper.

 

This time, tough, she seemed hungry, since her diaper didn’t smell.

 

You pick her up, supporting her head gently in the crook of your elbow, and push the stroller with Dirk still in it out into the main room where you were sitting before.

 

Your apartment was pretty small, only containing a main living area with a couch and TV on the left wall, and the kitchen pushed onto the right. The door out of the apartment and to your bedroom were facing each other down the split between the middle, and the bathroom was located off of your bedroom. You are very lucky that it has a bathtub and not just a shower.

 

You leave Dirk and the stroller by the couch for a second while you go to the kitchen.

 

You dig around in the baby bag you left on the counter for the baby formula, and take the bottle out of the sink. 

 

Adam Ruins Everything says that baby formula is fine, so you go with it, since you don’t have any other options.

 

You heat up the water in the microwave, and then test the heat against your wrist. It’s not hot, just warm, so you put the formula in and shake the hell out of it.

 

Roxy reaches up for it and stops crying, more cooing and gurgling in anticipation for the bottle. 

 

“Oh, you want this, huh?” you say, teasing her, “What are you gonna do to work for it?”

 

She coos again, and makes a cute little face at not being given the food. 

 

“You think your dashing good looks will be all it takes to get this bottle?” you can tell that she does, “Damn, get a job, woman.”

 

You adjust your grip on her and feed her the bottle, watching her suckle on the plastic nub thing, and almost cry at how cute she is. You’ve been crying a lot in the past day, and you hate it. 

 

When she starts to slow down, and seems done with the bottle, you swing her over your shoulder gently, forgetting to place a towel on your shoulder, fix that problem, and then finally burp her. 

 

You go at it for a few minutes, rapping a gross little song about it, too, until you hear Dirk start to wake up. 

 

You aren’t sure if them constantly sleeping in the stroller is a bad thing or not, but you have no alternative until the crib comes in two days. 

 

You carry Roxy over to her brother, and sit her down in the stroller next to him. They both look so similar that it’s uncanny, and you’d think they were identical twins if that were possible, but you’re  _ pretty  _ sure it isn’t. 

 

Dirk looks about as stoic as he ever does when he’s not crying, and you just love him to death. You unstrap him from his seat, and pick him up, cradling him to your chest, and then plop down onto the couch. 

 

You turn on the TV, switching it to something vaguely child-friendly, since you don’t think they’re lucid enough to care about or actually learn anything from whatever is on TV. 

 

The show looks to be some anime, and you’re pretty fine with that until the doorbell rings. 

 

You forget you’re holding Dirk for approximately five seconds as you go to get the door, and then immediately remember and regret it when on the other side is Rose and John. 

 

“Fuck,” you say. 

 

You almost slam the door in their face, but John squeals excitedly before you can do anything, shoving himself into your apartment and quickly finding Roxy. 

 

“Aw, Dave, can I hold her?” John asks desperately, obviously enthralled by Roxy’s alluring adorableness. 

 

You reply, ignoring Rose’s shell-shocked form still in the doorway, “Has she caught you up in her cute powers, too, John?”

 

You walk up to him, still carrying Dirk, and help him to hold her properly. 

 

Ironically, at the end of it, the only person without a baby is the woman in the doorway. 

 

“Dave? Who are these kids?” she asks slowly, still bearing a look of shock. 

 

“Dirk and Roxy. I’m sure you can guess who’s who.”

 

She responds with snark before anything else, “Knowing you, you’d switch the genders just to fuck with everybody.”

 

“Rose! No swearing in front of the kids!” you reply.

 

She sighs, “I hope they aren’t yours, brother.”

 

You stand stock still, and gulp anxiously. 

 

“Oh, fuck, they are, aren’t they?”

 

“...Maybe.”

 

"You knocked a girl up?!” Rose exclaims, “We talked about this just the other day!” 

 

“Well it obviously takes more time than that to make a kid, so I think this happened before we had that talk!” 

 

You both forget John for the moment in order to argue. 

 

“Did you really just take in two kids?! You know nothing about parenting!”   


 

“Well I couldn’t just leave them on my doorstep!”   


 

“You should’ve called CPS or, you know,  _ me _ !”

 

“I could've, but then you would’ve just said this exact same shit!”   


 

John tries to intervene, “Guys, guys! Come on!”

 

You push on, “They’re my kids, and I wanted to keep them! Look at how cute they are, I know you’d want to keep them too!”

 

“Dave, that’s exactly why you’re not mature enough to have them!”

 

“I’ve done all kinds of research! And I signed up for classes and everything! I’m also hardly irresponsible, thank you very much, since I had to basically raise myself!”

 

“Dave, you can’t just--”

 

“ENOUGH!” John shouts, “Rose, you can’t make decisions for Dave, and Dave, you should’ve told us, or at least Rose, since this is a big responsibility and you’re gonna need help.”

 

He looks at the both of you, and neither of you respond. You look down to Dirk, and hold him close. He looks like he might cry. The yelling probably scared the poor kid. 

 

“Are we good?” John asks, finally. 

 

You nod, and Rose nods, albeit hesitantly. 


End file.
